


Mac, Charlie, and the world's saddest country song

by chrundletheokay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, benzodiazepines, don't combine benzos and booze kids, happy 'tends bar' day, have i mentioned i hate coming up with titles, just don't do it, writing summaries is hard too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrundletheokay/pseuds/chrundletheokay
Summary: Mac isn't coping too well with Dennis's absence; Charlie is getting sick of it.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald, Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Mac, Charlie, and the world's saddest country song

**Author's Note:**

> [TW: substance abuse (benzodiazepines + alcohol), suicidal ideation]

Mac is high again.

He’s taken to using benzos lately, ever since some twink at the Rainbow hooked him up with a cheap supply. One evening, over Chinese food, Mac regaled Charlie with a long and overly-detailed explanation of how it happened.

The story involved Mac crying while hooking up with some twink he met at the Rainbow, and subsequently spilling his guts about “his ex” who had “just left him.” Apparently feeling sorry for Mac, the poor tear-stained twink hooked him up with a little something he claimed would help take Mac’s mind off of his ex: a ziplock baggie containing an assortment of benzodiazepines.

Charlie hadn’t even known how to respond, beyond “wow.” Based on Mac’s account, the guy was either a shitty dealer or an enthusiastic user. And based on Mac’s account, Mac is either a liar or delusional as _fuck_ about the nature of his relationship with Dennis.

Dennis Reynolds — the very same bastard man who left Philly to put an entire half a country between himself and Mac, leaving no contact information save the phone number for some kind of mental health crisis line. And he did it all under the guise of moving to Bumfuck, Nowhere to play house with some random chick none of them had even _heard of_ before. Clearly a ruse, the more Charlie thinks about it.

“Hey Charlie,” Mac mumbles, his head lolling to one side along the back of the sofa.

_Predator_ plays low on the TV screen. Charlie takes a hit from his bag of glue and glances at Mac again. “Huh.”

“I have to tell you something. It’s, like, about Dennis. I have to…” he trials off and blinks heavily.

“Okay, but do you have to, though? Like, do you actually _have_ to?”

Mac frowns in concentration. “It’s important.”

“I’m sure you think it is.”

“No, but I—You have to promise not to freak out, ‘cause it’s… it’s kind of a big deal.”

“I’m not gonna freak out, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I already know what you’re gonna say,” mutters Charlie.

“Charlie, I love him. I’m in love with him.”

Charlie sighs, because now they have to talk about this. “Yeah, no shit.”

“I’m talking about Dennis. I’m-I’m in love with Dennis.”

_“Yeah.”_

Mac squints over at him with bloodshot eyes. “No, but you’re… you don’t know this. You’re supposed to be shocked.”

“I’m not, because I definitely already know this.”

Charlie launches himself off the soda and wanders into the kitchen for another beer. Besides the obvious benefit of getting him slightly drunker for the remainder of this unbearable conversation, it also gives him a bit of space for a minute or two. These days, Mac is more whiny, clingy, needy, and insecure than ever before. He’s surrounded by an aura of depression, desperation, and self-pity. It gets uncomfortable to be around.

Charlie forgot, though — the kitchen may be a respectable distance from Mac, but it is not a good place to escape from Dennis-related thoughts. Mac keeps it stocked with all of Dennis’s favorite foods, “so he’ll have something to eat when he comes back.”

_When._

Mac still talks about Dennis returning like it’s a matter of “when,” not “if.” It’s been months since he fucked off and out of their lives. Everyone else has already switched to “if,” even Dee. But Mac insists on playing the role of the Grieving Widow, like giving a guy an RPG was the same as asking for his hand in marriage.

Like no one has as much of a right to be hurt as he does.

Dee pulled Charlie aside one day to inform him that Frank still can’t figure out how to clear the browser history on the office computer. As a result of this, she was able to ascertain two things: first, to no one’s surprise, that Frank is disgusting and should be ashamed of himself; and second, that he regularly googles for Dennis’s obituary, presumably to see if Dennis has kicked the bucket.

“Do you think if Dennis knew, he wouldn’t’ve left,” Mac asks as Charlie wanders back into the living room.

“Oh, for—” _fuck’s sake_ , Charlie stops himself from saying; Mac should be grateful for his tact. “He definitely knew, dude. _Everyone_ knew.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mac mumbles.

“Yuh- _huh,”_ Charlie insists. “You were real obvious about it. Like, bro, you wouldn’t know subtlety if it... I dunno, if it ran you over with an eighteen-wheeler.”

Mac’s eyes are welling up with tears. “Subtlety drives an eighteen-wheeler?”

“Obviously not; that was a metaphor,” snaps Charlie.

Mac sniffles and swipes at his eyes.

“C’mon, man. Don’t-don’t cry. Like seriously? C’mon.”

“I can’t help it, Charlie,” Mac shouts. “Because it turns out the man I love _knew_ that I loved him. And he still left me to go play babydaddy with some cheap skank he picked up in a North Dakota Applebees! And if that isn’t the world’s saddest country song, I don’t know what is!”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, that’s pretty pathetic,” Charlie acknowledges with an uncomfortable laugh.

Mac stumbles slightly on his way to the kitchen.

Charlie watches him warily, knowing exactly where this is heading: a benzo-fueled bender. Admittedly, Charlie is guilty of combining benzos and alcohol. He’s also done about a million things more dangerous than that. But Mac’s system is far more delicate than Charlie’s. Mac would never be able to manage a shot glass of paint, let alone a whole pint, the way Charlie can.

More importantly, drinking might make him more annoying and whiney and weepy.

“Hey, y’know, you really shouldn’t be drinking on those things.”

“Fuck you,” Mac snarls. He scrubs his hands across his tear-streaked face and reaches into the fridge for a beer. “It’s like... we live, we die, we drink, we take Klonopin or Xanax or whatever, we get our stupid gay hearts broken into a million tiny little pieces by the man we love... It’s like, what’s the point? What’s the point of any of it?”

Charlie puts his hands on his hips and glares across the living room at Mac. “You’re being a real asshole right now, you know that?”

Mac places a hand over his heart. _“Me,”_ he asks shrilly.

“Yeah. _You._ You’re being a real sonofabitch. You invite me over for movie night — and don’t think I don’t know why! I’m obviously just a stand-in for Dennis. It’s _your_ movie night, isn’t it? ‘Mac and Dennis movie night?’ But you’re all ‘Charlie, come on over; we’ll watch a movie together. Charlie, I’ll smoke you out. Charlie, it’ll be just like old times.” Charlie repeats Mac’s words back to him in a whiny imitation of Mac’s voice.

“So I come over, and you’re all, like, whining about Dennis again. _Still._ Always, dude! You’re all, like, ‘oh, boo-hoo, Dennis left, so I might as well kill myself! Nothing else to live for, not even my _best friend who I invited over for movies!’_ So once again, good ol’ Charlie is second-best. Well, _fuck you,_ man. You wanna kill yourself? _Fine._ Eat worms. See what the fuck I care!”

When Charlie finished his rant, he’s panting. The apartment is dead silent, save for the ringing in his ears, and a quiet sob Mac muffles behind one hand. He sets down the beer on the kitchen counter; shuffles over to Charlie; and envelops him in a warm, oppressive hug.

“What’re you doin’, man,” Charlie mumbles into Mac’s shoulder.

“You’re crying,” Mac answers.

The t-shirt against his face is wet, so it must be true, unless Mac’s shoulder has suddenly sprung a leak. “That’s stupid. Why would I do that,” he mumbles anyway.

“You’re sad. Because you miss Dennis, too.” Mac sounds suspiciously eager, like he’s glad to have someone to share in his misery and self-pity.

“Also ‘cause I guess I hurt your feelings a lil bit,” Mac continues. “But you know I love you too, right? Except not like I love Dennis. Like best friends. Like brothers.”

“Shut up,” Charlie mutters.

Mac clings on even tighter. For a brief second, Charlie wonders if it’s possible to break someone’s rib via hugging. He thinks he’s heard of it happening before.

“I do, though,” insists Mac. “For real, bro. Don’t-don’t leave me too.”

Charlie laughs wet and bitter into the hug. “Where d’you think I’m gonna go? I’d have to leave Philly. You think I’m gonna try that again, you’re crazy.”

Mac laughs back a little, but it sounds more like desperate relief than genuine amusement.

“Now let go.” Charlie pats at his back. “I’m serious, man, get off me.”

Separated at last, they both collapse back onto the sofa.

Charlie thinks he doesn’t want to be sober anymore. Mac and that twink from the Rainbow may have had the right idea about the benzos. “You got any more of those, uh—”

Mac hands over the pills without a word; Charlie takes a couple.

Not long after, they pass out on the couch, the credits to _Predator_ playing quietly in the background.

**Author's Note:**

> if this looks familiar, it's bc i crossposted it to my tumblr: @chrundletheokay


End file.
